


The Invalid

by Hymn



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, i only ever played kh and kh2, so spoilers only for roxas existing mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-08
Updated: 2006-07-08
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Sora is, unfortunately, sick.





	The Invalid

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt: strength

Roxas is giving him an odd look when he blearily opens his eyes. It’s happened so often now that it’s not really a shock to find the blond pale and translucent and standing before him, except that Sora is ill, and didn’t notice the empty feeling of his missing Other like he usually does. Needless to say, it is startling to wake from muggy, stifling dreams to Roxas.

“Ah~h!”

(“You have problems,”) Roxas is saying as Sora pulls himself up off his floor weakly. The blankets are sticky and writhing around his legs with a sentience that almost makes Sora twitch and call up his keyblade. Beating at them with a heavy fist does nothing, and so Sora drags himself back up onto the softness of his bed, feeling like a beached merman. (“Severe ones.”)

Sora eyes him evilly, focusing somewhat fuzzily at where Roxas is sitting, cool featured and silently amused. “If I sneeze on you, will you feel it?”

Roxas’ cool features crack, and he gives Sora a disgusted look. (“You are not sneezing on me.”)

“Bah,” Sora grumbles, and attempts to suffocate himself beneath his pillow. The room is too cold, and his clothes are plastered to his skin from sweat, and he hopes that Riku will be over soon with that miracle cold medicine he promised. Sora doesn’t think he can stomach Kairi’s well-meaning soup any longer – it’s no better than his mother’s, and that tastes enough like dishwater that Sora learned how to cook as soon as he could reach the stove.

Groaning, Sora tries to curl deeper beneath his worn pillow. When Roxas makes his way beside him, the bed doesn’t even shift, and he's hot and soothing, like always. Sora’s never appreciated it more than he does now, as Roxas lays rigid beside him. From beneath his pillow, Sora can watch him with his carefully blank face.

(“I hate it when you’re sick. It’s…uncomfortable.”)

Sora spits a piece of fabric from his mouth, and comes out from under. He doesn’t thank Roxas, because Roxas is different from himself, different from most people: touchy and cold and a little feral, sometimes; he doesn’t take well to sentimental things, even something so simple and everyday as a thank you. Instead he scoots closer, breathing easier as the heat washes over him. “Didn’t you ever get sick?”

(“…not really.) Sora waits a moment - because sometimes silence is the best bait - and then Roxas adds, straight faced and a touch wryly, (“There aren’t many Sicknesses That Never Were, after all.”)


End file.
